


Red Hearts

by Amelita



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Amelita tries to write a sweet Valentine fic, Anorexia, Cannibalism, Insanity, M/M, Mental Instability, Murder Husbands, Psychopaths In Love, fails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 06:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5995863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelita/pseuds/Amelita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've falling in love and I hope that you want me,   <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VkjrBKehwsQ">the way that I am</a><br/>Falling in love and I know I can't change me, do you understand?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Hearts

 

It was February and there was still quite a chilling bite to the air as Asami opened the door of the limousine and stood on the sidewalk. People walked around the imposing man like water parting for a stone. The streets of Shinjuku were crowded with people, hustling and bustling and jostling past one another in their singleminded drive to get home. There was also a light drizzle that was creeping down the back of Asami’s collared trench coat and the evening was gloomy and overcast. It made the entire experience wholly unpleasant. Asami was never one for crowds, even in the best of circumstances, but today it was simply unavoidable. There were men he could have sent to do this job for him, of course, but none that he could trust. No, this wasn’t a job for his lackeys, this was a job that could only be entrusted to Asami Ryuichi himself.

When he reached the designated building, Asami looked up at the sign and then down at the card in his hand to verify. The Flower Shop, it was a generic name, in a generic location with the generic Valentine’s Day display in the window. There was a strand of paperhearts and a fat cupid pointing his arrow at the street and dozens upon dozens of flowers arrangements in the window, from bucket of red tulips, to brightly colored carnations. Asami sneered contemptuously at the tacky, sloppy arrangements marketed to the tasteless masses.

None of them were even remotely good enough.

He opened the door anyway and walked through a swarm of men waiting to check out, with handfuls of flowers and chocolates and cards they would carelessly scrawl their names on. There was a refrigerated section in the back where they kept loose flowers and one could make their own arrangement and this where Asami was headed. It took him nearly a half an hour to pick out a dozen roses. Each one he had to inspect fully. Each one had to be perfect. Each one had to have its thorns removed carefully and then the stalks polished smooth. Each one had to have the same number of petals and had to be the exact same shade of vivid, blood red. One of the shop assistants kept trying to speed him up, under the guise of ‘helping’. Asami shrugged her gestures off. He would not be rushed, not in this. It was far too important.

Once he had finally made his selection and added a few sprays of baby’s breath, each with a specific, symmetric arrangement of boughs. The shop assistant kept looking at him scathingly as he insisted on wrapping the flowers himself in the paper, to ensure it remained crisp and wrinkle free. She scowled at how long he took. Asami ignored her. He didn’t mind. She couldn’t understand perfection. Nobody did. How could they? They had never had something perfect in their lives, not like he did. Once he had been just like them. But it took experiencing perfection to understand its value. And Asami would never bring anything less than perfect home to the supremely perfect creature that waited for him there.

Akihito would smile and shake his head of course, and remind him that there was perfection in everyone, you just had to look for it. Sometimes it was deep inside. Asami looked at the shopgirl as she rang him up and tried to decide which part of her was perfect. Not her face, it was fat and somewhat misshapen with a crooked nose, not her body, not her frizzy hair…. but her hands, her hands were gorgeous. She had long fingers, strong and shapely with just enough meat, but not too much. Her nails were trimmed short, but perfect polished ovals. She had smooth skin and pretty dimples on the back of each knuckle. Lovely hands. Akihito would appreciate them. Asami would probably return for them, at some point.

The handsome business man smiled gently at her and gave her a large tip, which finally made her smile at him.

He turned and walked from the shop, settling into the limo with an air of triumph and satisfaction. His gift was now complete.

He had a poem, he had a dozen roses and he had a sweet treat for his Valentine. Asami smiled at the bright red box sitting beside the roses. Sweets for the sweet. Akihito wouldn’t be able to resist sinking his teeth into it right away.

He remembered the first time he had seen Akihito.

He had looked more dead than alive, like a living skeleton, too weak even to walk. The orderly had wheeled him into the common room in a wheelchair, hooked to an IV, and left him sitting by the window. In the sun. Careless, Asami had thought, looking at the tiny boy’s creamy skin and soft blond hair. They would leave him sitting there, in the hot sun, all morning and that beautiful skin would burn. Despite his excruciating thinness, he was still the most perfect thing Asami had seen and he couldn’t stand the thought of that perfect complexion marred by freckles.

The orderlies and nurses had all tensed when Asami had stood and moved to stand beside the newest patient, but all he had done was reach over him to close the curtains.

“Thank you,” Akihito had said softly, long dark lashes casting shadows on his hollowed cheeks.

“My pleasure,” Asami had returned smoothly. Manners he thought, this one had manners. It was a welcome change. Manners were very important to Asami and he found the lack of them very irritating. It was just one of many reasons Asami found other people to be irritating. Something about this boy was soothing to him though. Just looking at him, he could feel the swirling flame of his mind pull back into something more orderly, as orderly as a raging fire could be anyway.

He introduced himself with a respectful bow, as gallant and gentlemanly as one could be wearing a jumpsuit and slippers. His hair was perfect though, they couldn’t take that dignity from him, “My name is Asami Ryuichi. You may call me Asami.”

Asami liked to specify, it prevented unpleasantness. The last person who had called him Ryuichi without his permission... well, there had been significant unpleasantness that day.

“My name is Takaba Akihito. You can call me Akihito, Aki for short, whichever you prefer.”

Asami would prefer to call him ‘Mine’ but sadly, such endearments would have to wait until they were better acquainted. That process would start right now.

“Would you like to paint with me?” he invited.

The boy’s eyes brightened with interest and Asami could finally see that they were blue. Of course he thought, of course they would be blue. Perfect.

A smile crossed the boy’s gaunt, but still lovely features as he replied demurely, “Yes, please.”

Asami’s heart was beating in his chest as he knelt before the younger and made sure to tuck the boy’s feet up onto the footrests. He took the handles of his wheelchair and navigated Akihito slowly across the room. He was careful to move smoothly, to prevent rocking of the IV bag, to keep a safe distance from the other patients, who could be rather unpredictable. He maintained eye contact with the tall orderly whose gaze was fixed on them. The uniformed man held a hypodermic needle in hand. It contained a powerful benzodiazepine or ‘chemical restraint’ as the staff at the psychiatric hospital liked to call it. The entire staff was nervous and rightly so. Their eyes tracked the duo as they moved across the common room floor. Asami did not often take interest in the other patients, and those that he had, it was usually for the wrong reasons and did not end well for them.

Asami had no intention of harming Akihito though. Smashing rotten, bruised fruit was one thing, but it would be foolish to handle such a perfect plum roughly. He stopped Akihito’s wheelchair before a table, placed an easel and paper in front of him. Brushes, water and watercolors then followed. Asami sat the same before himself. They painted for a while in silence. Asami watched Akihito from the corner of his eye. He never looked at his painting, for that would be rude to look on an artist’s unfinished work without permission but he watched the way the boy moved. His hands trembled, his arms too weak to hold them up for long. His movements were graceful though, confident. Asami wondered what such a fragile, beautiful creature could have done to end up in a juvenile psychiatric hospital, in the ward with the most violent of offenders. He wanted to ask, but he didn’t.

All he said was, “What is your favorite color?”

“Red,” Akihito said, his pink tongue held between his teeth as he painted something with a small brush, “Yours?”

Asami smiled, “Red as well.”

He loved the way the bright color looked against a white background. It had more life in one drop than a whole sheet of any other color. He noticed the way Akihito stayed away from the red inkwell though. He stayed away from the black too. Asami supposed he was painting something with nature in it. Asami was painting a tree, a large oak with branches that spread wide like fingers reaching. Though he preferred the aesthetic of the barren tree, he filled the branches with bright green and yellow leaves. He finished by putting a bright bluebird in a nest. His psychiatrist would like that. Asami smirked in amusement.

A nurse came up from behind Akihito and cooed at his artwork, “What a beautiful seascape Akihito! It looks so peaceful and calm, why it looks like I could just jump right in and take a swim!”

His curiosity overrode his manners and Asami stood to take a look. It was a simple, but stunning piece. It looked peaceful and yet he could see sharks just under the surface of the water. One had to be looking just right to see them, otherwise they looked like part of the waves. At a cursory glance though, it was just a generic, rather boring, painting. The placid calm surface hid the danger lurking under the surface. Asami grinned and Akihito smiled sweetly as their eyes met. Seconds later, a sweep of lush lashes concealed those pretty eyes from view but Asami’s predatory smile was unmoving. Akihito had the face of an angel, but his mind was quite like Asami's. Yes, they already understood each other well.

They both knew how to play the game; the game of making all the doctors and professional around them think that they had changed. That they were ‘better’ when at their core, they were the same psychopaths they had always been. It was a game only the smartest of patients could play. Asami was very clever. Akihito was quite possibly more so. Lovely boy.

Asami idly wondered how long Akihito had been institutionalized before being transferred here. Asami was seventeen, he had been here since he was fourteen. Akihito didn’t look a day over twelve, though his small size might be deceptive.

The nurse fluffed Akihito’s golden locks with her hand and Asami had a brief flash of how she might scream as he twisted it off. He would start by bending it backwards until her knuckles touched her forearm and then cracking it savagely forward, twisting until the ligaments popped and the muscles tore. It wasn’t the bone that would be the most difficult to break or the attachments, it was always the skin. He’d have to sever that with his teeth perhaps. He wouldn’t have time to do it, not before the other nurses swarmed him and pulled him off of her. Asami sighed with regret. His psychiatrist would have been proud of his calm and self restraint. She had taught him to temper his violent urges by counting to ten. What Asami really did was envision how much damage he could cause before anyone could stop him. They were pleasant daydreams to pass the time between psychotic impulses.

She cleared their painting and paints and sat trays of food before them. Asami thanked her for their lunch, Akihito followed suit.

“Try to eat something love,” she patted Akihito’s fragile hand. She didn’t dare touch Asami.

Asami watched as Akihito made a big show of preparing to eat. He unrolled his utensils and placed them flat. He put his napkin in his lap. He peeled the lids from his fruitcup and Jell-O pudding. He was obviously well versed in the art of pushing all of the food on his plate into one pile so it looks like he'd eaten something. He kept a forkful of food near his mouth while they talk, so that it looks like he was actually eating. He took a few small bites, chewing them for a long time and then swallowing as if it pained him to do so. Akihito’s lips were faintly curled in disgust the entire time he forced food into his pretty mouth. He was polite though, and Asami rather liked the dainty, bird-like way he ate. He didn’t smack his lips or chew loudly and Asami greatly appreciated that. You can tell a lot about a person by how much noise they make when they eat.

Asami finished his own lunch easily. The ham sandwich was not bad, with a thick coating of mayonnaise and mustard to cover the taste of overly salted meat. The seventeen year old always ate as much as he was given. He wished to become as big and strong as he could possibly be. On the contrary, it seemed Akihito was actively trying to disappear, by starving himself. Anorexia nervosa, an extreme case, he diagnoses to himself, but why? Asami stole food from Akihito’s plate to help him and the grateful look Akihito gave him was well worth the risk of a reprimand.

The nurse was happy when she returned and praised Akihito copiously for eating half of his sandwich and some of his fruit. Asami wondered idly just how old the fruit preserved in that fruitcup was. Could be years. A bit like eating flesh preserved in sugar-filled formaldehyde. The lunch meat was very much the same. Asami didn’t really blame Akihito for not wanting to eat it, but there were hardly any alternatives in a state-run institution.

After their lunch, Asami convinced the nurse to let him take Akihito out to show him the garden then. She sent the biggest, strongest orderly they had and in his muscular arms rested a tranquilizer gun as if he was going on safari and Asami was the lion. Asami didn’t mind, in fact, Akihito seemed rather impressed by all the precautions they took. The orderly trailed behind them as Asami pushed Akihito’s chair through the gardens. They were unkempt for the most part, a rough, overgrown mess of bushes and weeds, but at the very center there were roses that had grown wild. They bloomed large, their petals were bright red and they smelled sickly sweet. They were a small patch of perfection in an imperfect world and so was Akihito. Asami knew they would appreciate each other.

He stopped Akihito’s chair in the midst of them and then went searching for the best. It took him a while but he found it, one perfect red rose, with the petals open wide. He plucked off each thorn carefully. Akihito smiled radiantly when Asami placed it in his skeletal hands.

“I killed my entire family,” Asami said then, conversationally.

“Oh?” Akihito asked curiously with his brow cocked.

“Mmhmm,” the large teen said as he laid back in the green grass and watched the clouds drift in the sky. It was a perfect spring day.

“Why’d you do it?”

“Mis-o-phonia,” Asami breathed out, regurgitating the word his therapists had forced into his head, “My father smacked his lips when he ate. My mother bit her nails. My sister popped her gum. It was so rude. I did ask them to stop, several times in fact.”

“They didn’t?”

“No, they didn’t. And once I got started, I just couldn’t stop. I was having too much fun. Carving them up made me feel like myself for the first time in my life. Wrapping the dismembered body parts up like presents was just to kill the time until the police arrived, but my psychiatrists insisted it was an act of remorse. Thats why I’m here.”

Akihito nodded in understanding, “I ate my baby sister. I started with her face and finished with her toes.”

“Why?” Asami asked looking up at the way the sun shined down on the blond and made his golden hair glow like a halo.

He shrugged delicately, “I was hungry and her cheeks looked so soft. They were round and delicious and pink. I only meant to nibble, but I just couldn’t help myself. I stripped every bit of fat flesh from her little bones and then I sucked them dry. After that, I stopped eating entirely. My psychiatrist says my anorexia stems from my regret. She says I don’t eat because it reminds me of what I did to my sister. I pretend to agree with her.”

“Whats the real reason you don’t you eat?”

Akihito’s blue eyes are clear and full of absolute calm as he looked at Asami, like a placid sea over circling sharks.

His voice was utterly honest, “Because nothing tastes as good as she did.”

Asami rolled then, to kneel at Akihito’s feet, to gaze worshipfully at his small face before carefully bending his head in supplication to kiss the back of his small hand. The heart of an ancient God lay trapped inside that fragile body; beautiful, powerful and remorseless, but only Asami could see it. He would lay a pile of human sacrifices at his small feet. Burning amber eyes met cool blue. He was perfect. And they were perfect, together. A perfect match. He could tell, this was the beginning of a beautiful partnership.

Somethings were just... meant to be.

“I’ll feed you,” he swore fervently. Akihito had smiled indulgently at him. The boy hadn’t believed him, not really, not until Asami brought one of the other patient’s tongue to him, still fresh from where he had torn it from its roots. The schizophrenic in room four would babble no more. Asami had never seen anything more beautiful than the way Akihito tore hungrily into the soft meat with his perfect white teeth and the way he smiled with red blood coating his lips. That was the first time the sound of chewing hadn’t bothered the older boy. If anything, it was now his favorite sound in the entire world; the sound of Akihito eating and enjoying something Asami had provided him.

He had kept him well fed their entire stay at the institution. There was a loose grate in Asami's room that allowed him access to go and come as he pleased from his room. No one ever suspected him, because the murders were random and he always had an alibi. He was locked in his room each and every night, so how could he possibly have murdered someone halfway across town and removed all their internal organs?

Akihito was released after a year, Asami soon after that for he had to ensure his little love stayed well fed. It was easy to convince their therapists that they were victims of childhood abuse that had simply snapped. It was easy to convince the medical professionals that their talented care had cured them of their psychotic impulses. It was easy, because it was what the psychiatrists wanted to believe and it was always easy to make people believe what they already hoped to be true. That was afterall, the same principle every major religion was built on.

They had been juveniles, their records had been sealed after their release and as far as anyone would ever know; Asami Ryuichi was a successful businessman and Takaba Akihito was a talented photographer and his long-term live in partner.

If Takaba’s latest showcase of photographs featuring disembodied body parts, looking fat and juicy and tender, and made the viewer hungry, well, that was just part of the artist’s eccentric message. If Asami’s rivals had a strange way of turning up missing, well, that was just bad luck. They were squeaky clean, a normal couple that walked dogs in the park and had dinner parties with their friends once a month. They were well read and well educated, gracious hosts and one might say, maybe even a bit boring.

The limousine turned the corner and stopped in front of the high-rise building. Asami wished Kirishima a pleasant evening and sent him on his way. The elevator took him straight to the penthouse and into his lover's arms.

Akihito was still slender, but the hollows of his face had filled out, transforming him into a striking, angular beauty. His body was muscular, his belly soft, his skin supple. He looked healthy and well-fed. The lovely blond laughed at the smutty haiku Asami presented him with and his eyes were bright and shiny as he beheld the twelve perfect roses Asami had selected for him, one for each year of their perfect partnership. It was his reaction to the little red box though, that made Asami’s heart flutter excitedly in his chest. The boy’s pink tongue ran across his perfect lips in hungry anticipation as he pulled the satin bow loose and lifted the lid. His hands reached inside greedily and he moaned as he pressed the fresh meat to his mouth like a kiss. It was still warm from the man Asami had cut it from and his blood poured out as Akihito bit ravenously into it. It was a heart, and the symbol of Asami’s love for Akihito. The boy smiled shyly around his mouthful, his lips red and shining and seeing him feed, fed something inside Asami. For just as Asami nourishes Akihito’s body, it is Akihito who nourishes Asami’s heart and soul and his need for beauty and perfection in human form. His one perfect rose.

Their lips met in a bloody kiss, the scent of iron was sweet in Asami’s head. It was a scent he always associated with Akihito, for the boy preferred to eat his meat raw, warmed only by the life fading from the flesh.

“Happy Valentine’s Day my darling,” Asami purred into the boy’s wet hungry mouth.

Later Asami would lie in bed with his arm tucked protectively over his lover’s body and wonder at the perfection of his life.

He will wonder at the richness of the trust between them; at the way he so easily lets a cannibal take his cock between his teeth and the way Akihito so readily surrenders his frail body to a serial killer’s hands.

He will think of all the couples, all over the world, keeping secrets from one another. If what it means to be ‘normal’ is that you hide the things you are most ashamed of from the one you profess to love then Asami wants no part of it. Thats not love. Thats just good acting.

Does anyone else in the world have what he does; a love so pure and complete that they can look into each other’s eyes, knowing the darkest of each other’s secrets and the horrors that rest in one another’s souls and gaze unflinching into the abyss? They know each other completely, and still love wholeheartedly. Unconditional acceptance, as rare as a rose without flaw.

Asami will lay in bed that night and wonder, as he strokes Akihito’s hair, if there has ever been a love half so perfect, as theirs?

-

Need more? There's a LOT more! Come check out my Facebook and Tumblr pages if you want to know more about me and my writing!  
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